Limmy

Saturday, 12 October 2013

Denmark had just won the Euros, Barcelona hosted the Olympics and Right Said Fred had just knocked Shakespeares Sister's "Stay" off the number one spot with their lyrical masterpiece "Deeply Dippy"

T'was around this time when my weekend drinking was spent in a pub called Maxwells in Shawlands. It's no there anymore. They fucking ruined it and shut it doon and merged it with the Corona years ago. Wankers.

I was in there one Friday night in 1992 and some wee lassie that used to be the year above me in school started giving me the glad eye. I didnae really like the look of her as she was wee, skinny and looked a quite like Michael Bolton. I like my birds to have a wee bit of weight on them, you know, not obese or fuck all but I want to know I'm holding a woman in bed and not a wee skelf. And if I'm honest I'm more a Curtis Stigers kinda man anaw. Michael's a bit horsey.

Anyway to cut a long story slightly less longer I took her back to my wee Bachelor pad in Kennishead.

Kennishead's bowfin. It's 5 tower blocks famous for people deciding enough's enough and lobbing themselves oot the window but it was my first wee flat. It was a wee 1 apartment. My living room was my bedroom too. It was an awright wee first flat I suppose.

We were lying in bed naked with the lights out and she was annoying me. She was too skinny and wee and she had nae tits. I had to keep making her talk so it didn't feel like I was in bed wae a wee boy. It was pure messing with my brain. Anyway I needed a crap.

After the really bad crap (more liquid than solid) I reached round for the toilet roll and there was none. I was like "aw fuck man". I couldnae even stand up, it would have ran doon my leg. My brain raced about and I thought fuck it I'll need to wipe my arse with a towel and plank the towel then lob the towel out in the morning. You see, if you walk out the toilet yer straight back in the living room. I couldnae just walk in with a folded towel of shite so I just planked it behind the lavvy pan till the morning. I also took the light bulb out and planked that too so she wouldn't see it if she got up to use the toilet.

I came back through to the living room and went to sleep. Couldnae be arsed even trying to have sex with her. She was a pest.

In the morning I got up bright and early and told her I had to go over to my maws. She stayed on the same route so I said I would walk her home. She said 'gimme 2 minutes' and went to the toilet.

I waited 2 minutes

I waited 5 minutes

After 7 minutes I was like "Aw naw she's dried her face with my shitey towel hasn't she?"

After 14 minutes I was like "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK"

Out she comes after about 17 minutes looking traumatised but trying to hide it. I was like "right, yae right? Let's go hen"

I stayed 18 up and that lift down to the bottom felt like about 30 minutes. Total silence. Me trying to look sideways and see if I can see any shite on her face. I could smell it, it was definitely my shite I could smell. Everytime I looked at her face she would try stare at me so I would dart my eyes away.

We got to the bottom of the block and walked through the Boydstone park to Carnwadric. Not a word got said. What the fuck was I meant to say? I mean for fuck sake why the fuck did she have to go scouring for a hidden towel anyway? It was well hid and it was dark in that toilet.

I wonder what was going on in her head as she watched me run away through the park without any warning. I bet she was like "First he disnae shag me, then I wipe his shite on my face, now I stand here alone in a park at 8am watching him disappear from view after just running away without warning". I dare say she felt a bit suicidal.

I never heard much more about Wee Michael Bolton Shitey Face other than a guy I know coming into the pub weeks later boasting that he'd shagged her. He was bragging away about how good a ride she was and how he was 30 and she was only 21 and he still had the gift of the gab etc and I said "Her? I took her back to mine and she wiped my shite all over her face". A couple of my mates beside me nodding to the guy as if to say "aye he's no even kidding mate, your conquest wore his shite the other week there"

That telt him eh?

I do realise this is now the second blog I've written about my shite btw. I'm not that kinda guy. I hate toilet humour and stories about shite. This is weird that I've decided to blog about it twice.

but anyway it's written now. Aye wee Michael Bolton Shitey Face.

That'll teach her

I bet when my wee brother was on the telly and everyone from my scheme was going "oh that's Brian Limond fae Cruachan street" she was reminded of my shite.

Thursday, 1 August 2013

This week sees me enter my second week of full time employment in a new job. It's only the second time in 25 years I've worked for an employer. I've always been self employed you see.

When I left school I went straight into work as a joiner. My dad had his own double glazing company and that was me fucked. No escape. I had no choice but to be a joiner.

I done that for 9 years then discovered that if I sold windows I could make more in 2 hours selling them than 40 hours of making the fuckers so that was me sold, a salesman was the life for me.

This week has got me thinking of the first time I worked for an employer and how that turned out.

It was 1995. Me and my da were constantly at each others throat. My maw had just died and it was clear me and my da just couldn't work together again so my girlfriend at the time put a word in at the council and got me a job working for Glasgow District Council in the Parks and Recreation dept

My job was to hand out bowls in Castlemilk Sports Centre and if I'm honest I fucking loved it.

All I did all day was hand out bowls to drunk cunts, make a skin (which made me more than my wages) , drink a few beers with said drunk cunts while one of them kept edgy and then go home.

The story

One drunk Saturday I went up my da's to see my brother. His room was the attic conversion and he was right into his computers and stuff and I'd pop up now and then for a wee gossip and a game of Joust or whatever.

My brother started telling me about the internet and shit and how it all worked and told me he could send faxes through the internet and withhold his number.

My drunken mischief making head came on. My brother done this deliberately. He always used to do this. He knew I only needed a wee bit of a nudge to do stupid stuff. I'm not complaining, I love doing stupid stuff.

I faxed my boss (a guy called John Gilhoolie) at Castlemilk Sports Centre mad mental stuff. Calling him a sex case and a drug dealer and stuff and hit enter and bang, it had been sent. It was about 2 in the morning and I wasnae happy with just that so I sent another 7 or fucking 8 to him, each one progressively cheekier than the last.

Next day (a bit parra) I'm like "Here Brian, that fax shite defo disnae have oor phone number on it, naw?"

He said naw. He was telling the truth. It didn't.

I had a right giggle to myself at work on the Monday. John was marching about with his face all bright red. Pure growling at cunts. It took about 2 weeks for him to smile again. I'll be honest, I couldnae stop laughing.

3 weeks later

The summer and therefore the bowling season was over. I was to be transferred down to Pollok leisure pool on the Monday as my new job as a lifeguard. It was my last day in Castlemilk and as a wee playful prank on John I made a poster up that said "FREE PIES IN CANTEEN BETWEEN 3-4PM - ASK JOHN GILHOOLIE FOR DETAILS" and posted it on the outside of the sports centre. Just a wee bit of harmless fun.

A few folk came in and enquired and I told a confused John what I'd done and he laughed and said "Ach see you Davie ya madman, I'll miss yae so's a will" and we both walked out to see my poster.

John smiling away

haha Davie ya madman

His eyes reading down the poster

Big smile

Pause

His face turns to stone

"That's not how you spell my second name"

"Oh right mate, easy mistake eh? haha", says I.

"No, not an easy mistake. That's only the second time in my life I've ever seen it spelt like that"

"Oh right haha aye I'm no very clever haha"

"Naw yer fucking no urr yae?"

(My face beetroot with embarrassment, his beetreet with rage)

I just fucking bolted like a big fucking wean. I looked round. He was pointing at me and talking to a big cunt as if to say "close off all exits to Castlemilk. He must never leave alive"

I mean ffs you know what I wrote in the first fax. If I told yae what I put in faxes 2-8 you'd never speak to me again.

Friday, 7 June 2013

See that Myspace carry on? It brought me fuck all but trouble so's it did and here's an example why.

I was sitting in a library in Ayr in August 2007 and fucking about bored on a chatroom in myspace. The reason I was on a library computer was because only 2 weeks previous I'd been released from jail in America and deported and had fuck all to my name.

This daft bird from Leicester called Sher I'd been chatting to liked my patter and asked for my email address. I told her it but also told her I had just had a whore of an experience with a bird and wasnae looking for a new one.

That didnae fucking stop this bampot. Sending me email after email of her doing handstands and the splits in grey lingerie that was clearly white some years ago.

Mad cow. I still palmed the desperado off.

One day she said she had a new sat nav and asked me my address so she could just see out of curiousity how far away I was, but not being daft I told her my old address.

Never heard any more about it.

A couple of weeks later she asked for my works address and I just told her it, fuck knows why, I was only there a few hours a day, nothing mental's gonny happen, I thought.

On the Friday afternoon she phoned me and asks where I am. I tell her I'm at work and she says "I know, look out yer window". I look out the window and there's this mad gommy looking bird sitting in her car smiling at me.

The smile looked like my auntie Margarets.

I had nowhere to take her to. I'd been sleeping on my mates couch and no way was she going back there. Anyone who knows Josey Smith from Ayr will testify that he wanks into ladies shoes to get his kicks.

We ended up the tap of the toon in Ayr in a pub called Rabbies, me sitting there aw shell shocked and her smiling and staring at me as if to say "you're pure brilliant". I was freaking oot ma nut. Her hair looked welded on, kinda like it was plastic too and melting round the sides. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

We were sitting at a seat beside the bar and I seen wee Archie. It was wee Archie I rented my last flat off of. Nice wee flat down by the river in South Harbour st. I told her I was going over to say hello. I wanted to know if he'd rent it back out to me.

I walked over and Archie's face lights up like a christmas tree. "Oi you ya madman, what the fuck you been up to ya dirty bastard?"

I'm not a dirty bastard, I'm a nice fellow so I was taken aback and asked "What dae yae mean dirty?"

"2 weeks ago a parcel arrived for you. I thought you were still over in America so I opened it, fucking manky knickers and polaroids of some nudey wummin"

Aw ffs. I look towards the bird, she's heard him. Archie looks over his shoulder to see who I'm looking at and sees her. He thought I was alone. You can see both of their faces click on. He's like "That's that bird wae the hairy fanny" and she's like "That specky guy's seen my hairy muff"

Archie drunk his pint and left. She just sat there numb. Awkward silence central.We went to a B&B and she left the next day.

Didnae shag her lads. No wae Auntie Margaret's smile.

3 weeks later she invited me down to Leicester for a week. I was at a loose end and hated being back in Ayr so against my better judgement went down. She sales pitched me. Went on about the bar in her living room a lot.

When I arrived in her house she was just setting the table in the kitchen and her fucking kids were there, a boy about 11 and a 15 year auld lassie. I don't know why but I thought her kids were gonny be at their dads. She had made a huge effort. Wine bucket, big casserole dishes and stuff. You could tell me coming to meet her had meant a lot.

We sat at the dinner table in the kitchen and I was a wee bit nervous. Meeting your birds kids is usually something that happens after a few dates at least. So far all we had under our belt was a night in Ayr with a guy that had smelt her soiled knickers.

The son was not happy at all. He hated me. I didn't take it personal, he wanted his mum and dad to be together and there was some strange Scottish cunt sitting drinking out his da's favourite mug. The daughter didn't really give a fuck.

The son asked me a question, something like "Is it like Braveheart where you live in Scotland?" and his maw said excuse me? and made eyes at him as if to say "remember what we spoke about before David turned up". The son reluctanctly as fuck then said...

"Is it like Braveheart where you live in Scotland, Dad?"

She gave a wee nod of approval as if to say "That's better"

You probably think I've just made that up. I haven't. I spat my Tesco supreme range sausage oot and told the boy he didn't need to say that. She said "Oh no David, start as you mean to go on". It was at this moment I realised that I was dating an actual nutter. Not a pretend nutter like daft birds who just fancy you too much then get evil when they realise you have no interest in them... an actual nutter !!

I decided to get drunk all week and sit online and ignore everyone in that house till my bus home next Sunday.
I woke up one morning before everyone else and sneaked down to the PC to tell everyone on MSN and Myspace that I was trapped in a mad bastards house.

I then spied a bottle of Baileys in her bar..

Fuck it...8:42am but fuck it !!

I tanned it and filled it with milk.

A few days went by with me still not uttering a word to anycunt. I could always feel her face burning the side of my face. Her looking over to me trying to catch my eye so she could invite me over to watch TV with the kids but no fucking way man. Daddy Limondo was on Myspace getting therapy from friends.

The weekend came and she invited over her cousin and her man for a drink. The cousin was nice. Kinda manky looking but looked like you could scrub her up to a reasonable standard. Her boyfriend was a wanker. Typical fucking English cunt who thought he'd get wee digs about Scotland in. Boring as fuck. I was heading to bed in 5 minutes. Fuck them.

Just then the cousin said "Oh Sheryl, I'd love a Baileys, you got any?"

Aw fuck sake man !!

I postponed going to bed and sprung into life. I was like "You know what's nice? Spiced rum and coke"

"Oh I like that David but I really want a Baileys"

I said "Aye but spiced rum is stronger, it's fucking lovely" but it wasnae washing.

I had to steady myself for my best surprised face as the bird started pouring that milk into her glass. As it was pouring I was thinking "right, look at the telly, don't turn round and look at the glass as that'll look guilty as fuck"

She took a sip of her now sour milk and laughed and called my bird a cheapskate bastard. Her man was laughing too but my bird was raging, she felt humiliated. I had to calm her down, I joined in "hahaha mental man, hahaha milk? hahhaha that's funny (look at us all laughing haha we are having great fun folks haha life is great haha)

But the bird was fucking still raging, Apologising to me for the embarrassment. I was like "It's cool, relax, it's funny"

Just then the 15 year auld daughter came home from a night out with her pals. The maw stood up and slapped fuck out of her. Rag dolling her accusing her of filling the Baileys up with milk and saying she ruined her night.

The daughter was screaming and crying and said "Mum I swear on grans life I never touched the Baileys"

*Silence*

She never says that unless she's telling the absolute truth. She loved her gran (apparently)

So who drunk it and had the absolute fucking cheek to fill it with milk?

No one looked round to me but they knew.

They knew I'd just let a lassie get a battering from her maw for my early morning treat.

I went to my bed. I'd brought shame on Scotland. I know that every time they hear the word "Scotland" they now think of that Scottish guy Sher met that filled the Baileys bottle with milk.

The next day was Sunday and I was thankfully going home that night but I decided to go to the shops and get breakfast. The maw shouted her son and told him to go with me. Oh great, more awkwardness.

On the way to the shops the wee guy never said a word. I said to him "You miss yer dad don't you?" and all shy and half scared to tell me said "yeah". I said "well listen wee man, I don't want to see your mum again and when I get home I'm not going to phone her again so maybe your mum and dad might get back together again, ok?"

The wee guy was delighted. For the last few hours I was there he was my best pal. On the auld Xbox having the only fun of the week.

Next day I was back in Ayr. She rang me. I now had to chuck her, here we go. I answered the phone, she was all quiet, like she was crying. She told me her husband had turned up last night and she was lonely and they had wine and they shagged and could I forgive her?

Friday, 31 May 2013

It was another one of my whims. I was working with some big balding (aye you read that right - balding) English lassie that I used to go round streets door knocking with asking if people wanted cheaper lecky.

One night I crashed at hers and just couldnae be fucked going back to Glesga so I pretended to fancy her and moved myself into hers without her really saying if it was ok or not.

3 years I managed before she found me out and lobbed me out.

Anyway I want to share with you one of my favourite stories from my time here.

It was 2002, infact I'll tell you exactly when...It was Saturday March 16th. I know this because Rangers were playing Ayr in the league cup final on Paddy's day the next day.

I had my own flat in the Sandgate after me and the bird had a big argument weeks earlier but we were still seeing each other as pals. This particular night I was speeding, tipsy and feeling lonely. I never had a PC then so I grabbed the phone and phoned one of those chat and date numbers.

Fuck it why not? Shut up, stop judging me.

So what you do is you leave a wee recording of your voice and if any other weirdo likes the sound of your voice they press * to record a message to send back to you or press # to move onto the next tragic loser.

Some bird answered me back. Wee darling. Sounded like she came from Newton Mearns. I told her I had a BMW the lot (ach shut up man. How the fuck would she know the truth?)

Anyway we exchanged numbers and she called me and with my wee speed effected walnut whip-like cock in hand I sat there chatting to her to her about her hospital uniform and stuff.

She was fae Clydebank, 40 year old and had nae money but by fuck she sounded super cute so I told her to jump a taxi. The taxi firm phones me up and says "This wummins nae money, yae better meet her".

Look I'll fucking meet her, send her to me.

50 mins later I hear a taxi pull up and I go to the window.

Oot pops Heather Trott's fat uglier sister clutching a farmfoods bag and panting out of breath at having to stand up.

Haud the fuck on here !!

The Devil and Angel were in my head. The devil was saying "Don't answer the door, are yae mental ya cunt?" and the Angel was like "Aye mate get her tae fuck, her face is harrowing"

But I fucking let her in. Don't know why.

So in she fucking waltzes all smiles and fucking sunshine and I canny help hide my anger. I pointed to her trench coat clad carcass and said "what the fuck are you playing at?"

She was like "Pardon?" in her wee fucking silly annoying squeaky voice that I found adorable only some 54 minutes ago.

I was pure seething.

I said "What's in the farmfoods bag?"

She said "My nurses uniform"

I said ach fuck it wallop it on and we'll see how it turns out.

Next thing I know she's taking this blue and white cotton piece of material from the bag. It was so crumpled it looked like she'd been hiding it in her shoe for a week. I said "What the fuck did you iron that wae, a fucking hauf brick?"

As she opened it out I noticed the fucking thing wasn't shiny like you see in Ann Summers. It was fucking manky and like a tea towel.

I said "that's no a fucking nurses uniform"

She said "I can assure you it is, it's my late mothers"

FUCKING WHIT? SAY THAT AGAIN !!

I said "where did yer maw work as a fucking nurse, Barlinnie?"

She started bubbling aboot her maw so I calmed down and said sorry but told her she was on the fucking couch.

Next day I'm heading up the toon hotel to get the bus to the game and she's walking beside me. I'm trying to walk a bit ahead incase my ex that I'm on a break from seen me...or just incase anycunt seen me.

We walk past the bus station and she says "You've parked your BMW quite a distance from your house"

Tuesday, 28 May 2013

In 2007 I buggered off to America on a whim. Just woke up bored one day and fucked off over there. It's too long a story but to cut it short, while there I got robbed, got money sent to me from friends and family...and got robbed again 2 days later and decided to tough it out and work my way home while living in a homeless shelter in Cincinnati in what was at the time, America's most dangerous ghetto.

I'm now going to tell you a story about a Jester I met there.

Aye, a Jester.

The shithole area I was living in was just fucking awful. Everyone hung about a park called Washington Park. Cunts smoked crack and jagged up infront of kids. Every scum bastard in the world hung about it. I also hung about it. I thought it was a pure zoo. I kinda liked it.

I was lying in Washington Park one sunny morning with a few crazies I'd became mates with. I'd just finished a night shift cleaning Cincinnati Reds baseball grounds seats with a fucking pressure washer and was shattered. One guy was a pure redneck ginger with dungarees who looked like a mad jester. I never really knew Jester. He was new to the flock.

Just then this big black dude about 6' 6" came walking towards us with BRONX emblazoned across his T shirt. My mate Nick was like "Yo check it out Scotland (they called me that), it's Bruce. All your troubles are over"

Bronx Bruce came over to Nick and done all the high five shit and I discovered Bruce worked on a plane. Nick asked if he could get me a flight to the UK for mates rates and Bruce was like "Yo whitey check this shit out. Imma not only get yo ass home mother fucker but imma get yo ass home first class for free"

I was like "Whit? Gen up?"

Bruce said "fo sho" and emptied a hold all with about 60 whisky miniatures he'd blagged off his last flight. We all tucked into them but Bruce wanted to find some weed and the jester said he'd go help him find it.

5 hours later Bruce returns and tells me my flight to the UK is tomorrow at noon and I can crash at his hotel for the night and he'll drive me to the airport.

I was like "Bruce, pure gen up?

Bruce was like "fo sho" again.

Bruce took me for something to eat at Wendys and started yapping about Scotland and the Pan Am carry on. Bruce seemed ok. Wee bit shady but ok. I discovered he was cabin crew. Got a wee bit scared, but ok.

We got back to the hotel and there was 2 double beds. On one bed was about 40 empty miniatures and a fucking bible. I recall thinking at the time that he held his drink well because he didn't even look tipsy. I went for a shower. I was fucking reeking.

I came out the shower and there's Bruce watching porn. I was like aw man no no no I canny watch porn wae a massive black dude called Bronx Bruce. Bruce, thankfully, got up and said he was going for a shower and turned off the porn and the light and said we should get to sleep as it's a long day in the morning.

Everything seemed cool. Still a wee bit scared but cool.

Bruce came out the shower. I heard him dry himself off but then it went aw quiet.

Then I could hear him rub oil or something on his hands.

Aw nawHe then started giving me a fucking foot massage

I counted to 10 and hoped he'd stop. Fuck knows why I waited till 10, the free flight I suppose but naw, 12 seconds went by and he was getting right into it.

I jumped up and went mental. He started pointing to his bible and said he was only anointing to my feet like Jesus.

Naw no having that pish mate, I said.

I bolted. Fucking foot raping bastard, no way man, no fucking way homie.

Anyway I went back to Washington park and mostly everyone had fucked off apart from Jester.

Jester was sitting on the grass in a wee dreamworld. I asked Jester how he was. He spoke all slow like a pure hippy.

"Awww duuuude, I just woke up on a fucking bench with $60 in my pocket. Fuck knows where I got it, I don't remember a thing"

He went on to say the last thing he remembered was back at a hotel room with a big black guy.

Aw naw man

I bet Jester got raped.

Jester stood up instantly put his hand on his arse and said "shit my ass is killing me"

I immediately shouted " JESTER!!! BRONX BRUCE HAS RAPED YOU!!"

He paused for a second, still with his hand on his arse, looked round to me slowly, stared me straight in the eye and said "Fancy coming help me drink this sixty bucks?"

I said ok

We never spoke any more about it although I did see the look of utter terror in Jesters face a few times.

Monday, 27 May 2013

Yesterdays blog about me violating a pensioners arse via Instagram brought to mind another occasion I tormented the elderly. Today's a bank holiday so let's relax and enjoy this disgusting true story of utter filth.

The year was 1997. I was a joiner running my own wee double glazing firm making and fitting timber windows.

On the day in question I was fitting 3 windows on the third floor of a tenement flat in Ibrox for some guy that buys flats in ill repair, refurbishes them then rents them out. The flat I was working in was just a shell.

I'd been out on the swally the night before and as I was working away I realised I needed a crap. Not just any old crap, a 17 pints and a donner kebab the night before crap. One of those ones that rush up on you from nowhere, stomach craps, the lot.

Anyway, I bolted to the toilet my trousers at my knees before I opened the door and couldn't believe my eyes -The toilet hadn't been fitted yet!!! Not even a fucking sink !!

All sorts of crazy thoughts flashed through my head and I actually did think of crapping out the back window with my arse out the window but at the corner of my eye I seen something that saved the day -A shoebox!

Ya dancer !!

A wee portable lavvy

Without wanting to be overly graphic I very quickly emptied my liquid mess into the shoebox.

The plan now was to take the shoebox down to the binsheds round the back, walk up to the Clachan Bar and gie myself a wee wash. I got to the back door but the bastarding thing was locked. I was like "ach fuck it, I'll just place it somewhere discreet on my way up the street and let some junkie thinking they've found new shoes get a wee treat" but as if by magic a wee wummin appeared holding the back door key aloft in one hand and a polly bag full of empty sweetie wrappers and was like "Oh here son, wait i'll take that to the bins for yae"

Aw naw man

Pure panicking I said "Oh no no no I'll take that to the bins for you" but she was a no nonsense wee wummin and said I was to "get back tae ma graft" and she placed her hands on the shoebox of horrors. I held it over like a woman who'd changed her mind about adopting handing over her baby. Pure reluctant as fuck but knowing I was now committed.

I told her not to look inside it as my shoes were smelly and she just smiled at me all comforting like a woman that had smelt it aw.

I bolted up the stairs, into the flat and ran to the back windae to see if she'd have a wee peek.

Couldnae see her

Where was she?

Just then from the binsheds out she popped. She was rubbing her clearly watering eyes. I assume she'd just been sick. She never had that same wee bounce in her step that she had as I watched her embark on her journey to the binshed.

I got back to work. Fuck it man. Wasnae my fault was it man?

15 minutes later a car pulls up, youngish guy driving. It parked dead angrily. I could tell by the way he pulled up the handbrake he wasnae best pleased. I just hit the deck and lay there. The car door slammed and I heard voices in the close.

The voices moved to the street. I picked myself up and peeked out. Angry son looking up to the houses looking for me and joined by a neighbour with the auld maw looking totally distraught.

I went back to the floor till the car went away. Just lying there for a full 37 minutes in pure limbo.

What the fuck did she call her son for?

Did she tell him "Son come round, a mans just gave me a box of shite"? Was her son driving to hers furious saying out loud "A box of shite? My maw? A box of fucking shite?"

Sunday, 26 May 2013

Yesterday morning I had an hour to kill. I was in my home scheme of Carnwadric visiting a friend but they were taking ages to get ready so I decided, seeing as the sun was out, to go a walk up the Rouken Glen park.The 'Roukie' is always a fun* place because of where it's situated. It's right on the border of Glasgow and upper class spam valley East Renfrewshire. It's where Jezza Kyle meets To the Manor Born. On a busy day in the park the typical sounds you'll hear is nedspeak and the sound of posh folk tutting in unison at the neds behaviour. After a while the posh tutting start to sound like crickets chirping.

Anyway, on my way to the Roukie I passed by this old fat pensioner woman in her front garden hanging up washing. It was a great opportunity for a shitty Instagram pic. Her garden was mostly in the shade because of the big fuck off trees surrounding her house but shafts of light were poking through the trees and it looked like baby Jesus or his auld man were shining light onto her from the heavens above, this old crow with her blue rinse, bad back and lavender smelling cardigan.So I whipped my phone out and tried to capture a good angle for the pic from afar.Just then this cunt faced smarmy wee prick pulls up in his car and says "Excuse me, what the hell do you think you're doing? That's an old woman!!"I knew right away this was one of those do-gooder types out to save the community from those horrid Glaswegians so treated him like a fanny and told him to fuck off. He stated giving it the "Do you want to see my warrant card?" and kept threatening to go into his pocket to bring out some shitty bus pass type thing that lets everyone know he's a cheese encrusted helmet.I started to get a little bit irrational and actually panicked. I was like "Aw naw man, what's the opposite of a paedo? A geriatro? An auld biddy-o? A fucking Grannyo?". Whatever the fuck it is I actually started thinking I had done something pure out of order and walked away as he called the coppers.40 mins later on my way back to my mates I walk past the house again but play it safe and walk on the other side of the road and there's a couple of younger guys in the garden. nothing got said and I walked on.5 minutes later one of them came running up to me. he looked like a pure redneck. Like John boy from the Waltons only with an ISA and a trust fund. He introduced himself as the old crow's son and in one of those arsehole accents that only East Renfrewshire folk have started saying "Hey, the cops are looking for you. you better hand yourself in fellow"HahahahaI start telling the guy I like taking pics of utter shite (anyone on my facebook can testify to this) but just then a fucking cop car goes past and he flags it down!!I was like "Aw fucking naw man"The son started telling the coppers "This is the guy you're looking for" and the coppers are like "Eh?". We both get a chance to tell our sides to the story, the son going first. He describes how his old mother may have been violated and actually said "Well you know, this guy may be totally innocent but she was hanging washing up, she has to bend over to pick it up out the basket"!??!!!??!!!!!!???????!?!?!?Dear reader, she was a wee fat wummin. She was 70 odds. She looked like a cross between Roy Croppers maw and Pat Butcher. I didnae know whether to laugh or greet. he actually thought I was gonny wank over the thought of his pensioner maws fat arse? He consciously thinks his maw's pure sexy and if it wasnae for the senile dementia she'd know it.

Fucking madnessAnyway to cut a long story short the coppers were a little confused. I mean after all it's not a criminal offence to take a pic from a public highway so they sent me on my way with a "gonny ask the wummins permission if yer gonny take her pic next time mate?". I could have argued that I legally don't need to but I could tell they had a sort of "ffs mate let's aw go catch some rays and get this daft cunt tae fuck" look on his face.The son tried to apologise but I wasnae having it. I told him I didn't like his tone and he was patronising. It pure hurt him, ruined his entire summer.He walked away a broken man. You just know he's away out today to buy his maw a less sexier cardigan.Swear to fuck man, these East Renfrewshire folk are living on another planet.* Not fun